


It Might Have Been

by uncertaintyofknowing



Series: Begin Again [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncertaintyofknowing/pseuds/uncertaintyofknowing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20 years have passed. Arthur still can’t let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is not a love story.

“God pity them both! and pity us all,  
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;  
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,  
The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’”

_― John Greenleaf Whittier, Maud Muller_

*

Arthur tosses and turns for about twenty minutes before he gets out of bed, moonlight slipping in through the crack in the curtains, illuminating Gwen’s face where it’s resting on the pillows. She’s still asleep. A sudden surge of melancholia strikes Arthur, the way it always does when he watches his wife like this. She is so beautiful despite all the years that have passed, there is no denying it, but every time Arthur acknowledges this he is painfully reminded by the fact that even though he knows this, it does nothing for him. If he was to fall in love with a woman it might as well have been Gwen, it probably would have been, but he couldn’t. He can’t. Sometimes he thinks she knows this as well, and it never fails to make him feel guilty.

Sighing, he walks over to the door and slips out of their bedroom, intending to get a glass of water before going back to sleep. After downing two glasses, he sits down by the table with his head resting in his hands, trying to figure out how he ended up here. He is happy, well, sort of anyway, he has a beautiful wife and he is the CEO of a major company. They have a lovely house just outside London, so big it could probably be mistaken for the prime minister’s mansion, and he needs for nothing. Well, almost nothing.

Suddenly, but not unexpectedly, his thoughts are filled with memories of a hard body covered in miles of pale skin, blue eyes framed by dark lashes, high cheekbones and luscious, full lips, swollen by passionate kisses and whispers of love. Arthur runs his fingers over the lips in his mind, like he always used to do, making the dark-haired man smile so widely his eyes crinkled in joy.

Arthur had tasted real happiness, and trying to convince himself he had that now, that he had been anywhere near it for the past 20 years, was becoming increasingly difficult. His mind wanders back to the day he married Guinevere, how beautiful she had looked, and the happiness so apparent on his father’s face. How proud he had made him in that moment, Arthur thinks, the one thing he had strived for his entire life was only achieved with him denying himself down to the very core of his being. He remembers the jokes everyone had made at the reception, how it must have been meant to be because of their names. Arthur and Guinevere. Destiny. Arthur remembers thinking that no, this was not destiny. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere could go fuck themselves; Arthur belonged with Merlin. Probably then and definitely now.

_“Congratulations, mate,” Gwaine walked up to him and gave him a friendly slap on the back. Arthur gave him a weak smile, hoping it passed as exhausted and not despairing. Gwaine didn’t seem to notice in the slightest; he just lifted his champagne glass to his lips and took a carefree sip while surveying the room._

_“Got yourself a real nice one there,” he drawled in his thick accent, nodding his head towards Guinevere, who was standing with her bridesmaids and the maid of honour, Morgana, laughing at something the dark haired woman had said. Her eyes crinkled in the delight, and Arthur thought it wasn’t even half as adorable as when Merlin did it. He instantly felt guilty._

_“Yeah, she’s beautiful,” he said absentmindedly. Gwaine turned back to him, fond smile curling his lips._

_“You know, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone else,” his best man said. Arthur returned the smile. “I mean that in the best way possible, of course. You deserve happiness, Wart. Besides, Arthur and Guinevere? Must be destiny.”_

_Arthur wanted to cry._

It was eighteen years ago tomorrow. He was planning to take Guinevere out for dinner, and then to the theatre in the hope that they would come home and be so tired he wasn’t expected to do anything else in bed with her than falling asleep. He was expecting to feel guilty about this, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t like they did it often these days anyway, they never had, especially after they found out Gwen couldn’t have children. This is something he is immensely happy about, although he hates seeing how it breakes her heart. Despite everything, Arthur really does love her, as a friend more than anything else. He wants her to be happy; she deserves it more than anyone he knows, even more than himself. Especially more than himself. 

After what feels like forever, he finally summons the strength to get up from the chair he’s been slumping in for the last half an hour or so. He puts the glass away gingerly, considering pouring himself something stronger, but decides against it.

He returns to the bed his wife is sleeping in, letting his eyes roam affectionately over her dark skinned face and curly hair, and wishing more than ever it would stir up feelings in his chest the same way it had when his eyes roamed over Merlin’s sharp features and Merlin’s dark hair.

He goes to bed disappointed, and his dreams are haunted by pale skin paling even further and blue eyes shining with tears.

*

Arthur wakes to an empty bed and the smell of fresh coffee seeping in through the open door. He pulls a dressing gown over his pyjama trousers and t-shirt, before walking downstairs to where he knows Gwen is waiting for him. She is bent over the kitchen counter scrubbing at a dark spot that looks like dried coffee.

“The cleaning lady will take care of that, you know,” he says, smiling as she turns around with a slightly shocked expression. It quickly dissolves into one of affection, and Arthur steps forward to pull her into his arms.

“Congratulations,” he mumbles into her hair, before he leans back to look into her brown, sparkling eyes, now framed by thin lines. “Eighteen years is a long time.” Her response is a bright smile, and she leans up to kiss him softly. He pulls back before it can become anything more, reaching over to the cup of coffee waiting for him by the coffee machine. Gwen takes the hint and steps out of the embrace, reaching for her own coffee, with milk and three sugars.

Merlin always drank his coffee black.

Arthur shakes his head, wondering briefly why his mind keeps drifting back to Merlin so frequently these days. He blames the anniversary; thoughts of his marriage always trigger thoughts of Merlin.

He wonders where he is now. Is he still in London? Is he still alone..?

When he sits down at the table, flipping through the paper without really reading it, his mind drifts back to the day he met Merlin. There are so many things he wished he had done differently.

_“Mordred,” Arthur acknowledged when his assistant knocked on the frame of the open door. The dark-haired boy stepped inside, and Arthur briefly caught a glimpse of another, taller, dark-haired man standing just outside. Arthur frowned slightly. There weren’t supposed to be anyone else on this floor this late. Arthur gathered the stray papers on his desk before looking up at Mordred again. The young man shifted slightly under the scrutiny of his boss, and Arthur huffed slightly._

_“Go on then. What is it?”_

_Mordred looked like he was deep in thought for a few seconds, seemingly trying to find an appropriate way to word his question, before taking a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could go a little earlier tonight, sir. My brother just moved to London from Cardiff, and he’s staying at my flat for a while. I, ah, I would like to help him move in.”_

_Arthur’s eyes drifted to the doorway where he could see the tall, thin man leaning casually against the wall. His eyes met startlingly blue ones, attached to a slim face framed by dark hair. Arthur could see the family resemblance, and wasn’t surprised by the fact that they were brothers. He was, however, surprised by the sudden deep tug of attraction in the pit of his stomach when he drank in the sight of the lean man._

_Coughing slightly he diverted his eyes, aware that he had been caught staring. Mordred looked expectant, so Arthur accepted the welcome distraction and returned his focus to him._

_“Sure,” he said casually. “I was just packing up anyway: your day finished hours ago, you know. You’re not expected to stay.” Mordred looked like he wanted to laugh at that. He was an incredibly loyal assistant and would always stay late if Arthur did, even though he was never asked to. Sometimes Arthur even had to throw him out._

_He was very talented though. Slightly intense, but talented._

_“Let’s meet this mysterious brother then,” Arthur said, surprising both himself and Mordred when the words left his mouth. He stood up and smoothed over his white shirt lightly, adjusting his tie._

_“He’s the one waiting outside my office, correct?” Arthur arched an eyebrow at Mordred, who nodded, seeming somewhat dumbfounded. His brother seemed amused when Arthur stepped into the hallway, pushing off the wall as he stared at Arthur shamelessly._

_Arthur found himself swallowing heavily. The man was even more attractive up close, eyes still supernaturally blue and dark hair seeming even softer… And then Arthur noticed his mouth. Plump lips and clear Cupid’s bow making it seem almost feminine, but not in an off-putting way. Arthur cleared his throat and offered the slightly taller man his hand. “Arthur,” he said stiffly. “Arthur Pendragon.” The other man smirked and took the hand he was offered, curling long, slim fingers around Arthur’s palm. “Merlin,” he said, and god damn it, the bastard was smirking. Arthur cursed himself for being so obvious. No one knew his secret; his only attempt to tell anyone about his sexuality had ended in total disaster. When he was fifteen, Arthur had tried to tell Uther, who had stopped him half-way, saying that he hoped Arthur would not embarrass either of them. Arthur had promptly shut his mouth, and never attempted to tell anyone ever since._

_Arthur nodded at the man, Merlin, and wasn’t that a funny coincidence, before letting his hand drop when he noticed he had been clutching it for a bit too long. Merlin only looked mildly entertained. Arthur followed him with his eyes as he turned towards Mordred._

_“M,” he said, smirk obvious in his voice. “Why don’t you ask your lovely boss if he would come and have a drink with us? It would be rude of you to leave him here when we go out and have fun.”_

_Mordred had looked terrified, which made Arthur snicker and accept, although he had a strict rule not to spend time with his employees outside of work._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this, I spent the weekend in London and didn't have internet access. The final part should be up in a few days!

Arthur really does like Guinevere’s company. Of course he does; else he wouldn’t have married her. In an ideal world he’d be with a man—Merlin—and Gwen would be his lovely best friend whom he could always turn to if he needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t Merlin, or even if he needed to talk _about_ Merlin. But, as a rule, they don’t mention his name. The fact that Arthur had been so dismissive of the subject when he started going out with Gwen even though Merlin had been her friend to begin with, is never mentioned either. Some part of Arthur thinks that she suspects something might have been going on between the two men, Merlin was out and proud after all, but she had the decency not to voice her suspicions… Bless her heart.

They have a good time. The meal is good, albeit the waitress was a little bit clumsy, and the theatre proves just as pleasant a place as always. The night seems to end too quickly in Arthur’s opinion, and before he knows it they’re making their way back home, his arm slung protectively around her thin shoulders as they walk towards the taxi waiting to take them back to their house.

So, maybe it isn’t perfect. Maybe it isn’t an ideal situation and Arthur would have preferred getting to live a life where he is honest with himself… But it isn’t that bad. It is in no way _horrible_ , because Guinevere is nice and he enjoys her company. He loves her, in his way, and although the love she has for him is different he decides to keep his mouth shut and pretend.

He is becoming rather good at that.

To Arthur’s disappointment they make it home just around ten which means they’re not really tired at all, and the smile that Gwen offers him is so full of promises he feels his throat close up. But they have been together for nineteen years and married for the greater part of it, so Arthur knows what he has to do and he’s prepared to do it. When he made his choice he was aware of what he was giving up. He has no right to complain; he lost that privilege when he asked Merlin to leave. His right to voice his dissatisfaction left with the dark-haired man, and Arthur’s choices would forever haunt him and prevent him from saying “hey, my life actually does suck quite a lot.” Actually, a release from his frustrations might even be a good idea. His thoughts have been, even more so than usual, filled with memories of pale skin and slick bodies, dark hair and piercing, blue eyes. After nineteen years his mind is still clinging to a man Arthur hurt so badly there is no way he can fix it, even if he tried.

Besides, he had stayed quiet even after his father died. Even when Arthur had run out of excuses, he didn’t leave Guinevere’s side in favour of Merlin’s, where he could proudly exclaim that this; this was the one he loved.

The one he would always love.

When Gwen has undressed and Arthur’s shirt is lost somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom, he closes his eyes. Gwen is used to this, and he doesn’t think she takes it to heart, but it is necessary. In his mind, her dark skin transforms into the colour of milk, or snow, and he thanks whatever God still listens to a man so rotten as himself for the fact that the size of Gwen’s arms are just right, and if he keeps his eyes closed when he runs his palms over them he can pretend they’re Merlin’s.

He knows it’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong, but he convinces himself that the truth would hurt his wife even more, and it makes him clamp his teeth down and shut his mouth firmly, driving the guilt away with the sheer power of will as Merlin—no, Gwen—sinks to his—her—knees.

If he wasn’t going to hell before, he sure is now.

When his eyes are closed he can easily picture Merlin’s blue eyes and his kiss-swollen lips with such fierce power that he doesn’t care if it is real or not as long as the memory stays with him. When his eyes are closed it is as if he can feel him, hard and wet and wanting, pressing against Arthur. The mouth on him is suddenly Merlin’s, not Guinevere’s, and it makes it better in absolutely every single, unmentionable way possible. Merlin had more finesse and persistence and his tongue could do filthy things that were probably illegal in half of Europe, but Arthur doesn’t care. Not right not anyway, because if he wants to keep going, something that is crucial in order not to hurt Gwen’s feelings, these thoughts must stay in his head… Vivid as daylight.

 *

That night he dreams of his last conversation with Merlin. It is something that only happens in his dreams, because he uses every drop of willpower his body possesses to keep his mind from wandering in that direction when he is awake. It is closing in on twenty years now, he realises when he wakes, covered in sweat and tears, quivering like a frightened child.

 _Merlin must have noticed something was wrong. He always got that look on his face, like he knew what was about to happen or about to be said would either break his heart_ for _Arthur or have it broken_ by _Arthur._

_In this case, the latter was correct. Arthur wished he wouldn’t have to do it, but the truth was he was too much of a coward to stand up to his father. He knew his father loved him, but even love had its limits, like Arthur painfully had experienced first-hand._

_Merlin wrapped his arms tightly around Arthur, who was sitting pale and tight-lipped on the sofa in the flat he so far had refused to share with Merlin, no matter how much he wanted to._

_“Talk to me,” Merlin whispered, his breath ghosting Arthur’s cheek, making him shiver. When Merlin sat down next to him, dropping his bag on the floor in favour of getting full access to Arthur, the blonde pulled him closer for a desperate kiss which screamed of need for forgiveness._

_Arthur pulled back after minutes that seemed too short, panting hotly against Merlin’s mouth. The look in the taller man’s face broke his heart, because realisation was spreading across his features like a merciless infection. He knew about his father, and part of him had probably seen this coming. But, Merlin was a dreamer who preferred to see the best in people, so he was sure that he had clung to the hope that their love would be the one thing strong enough to break Arthur out of his fear._

_Arthur found himself thinking that if that wasn’t, then nothing was._

_His defence walls were building up as Arthur closed in on himself, choosing calm and collected leaning on angry over his true feelings of devastation, a defence mechanism he had inherited (or learned) from his father. It was so much easier to be angry at Merlin, angry for making him feel something he wasn’t able or willing to announce, than to break down in front the one person he knew could put him back together._

_It was stupid, but then again, Arthur had never claimed to be very smart._

_“Arthur, please…” Merlin whispered, and damn it, his voice was so open and raw and obviously devastated that it was all Arthur could do not to fall apart and cradle Merlin to his chest, promising to never let go._

_“No, Merlin.” His voice was hard, like a whip through the fragile air between them. Arthur could feel his heart breaking with it. He refused to look into the raven-haired man’s eyes, refused to even acknowledge his presence as he spoke._

_If his refusal to deal with the situation made him weak, Arthur thought he was pretty bloody strong to be able to utter these words to the man that held his entire heart clutched tightly in his hands._

_“I don’t think this is what I want anymore,” he lied, voice firmer than he would believe it capable of in this moment. He could hear Merlin’s sharp intake of breath like a stab to his own chest, and he turned around to face the other man._

_“I’m not going to give you the whole, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, alright? It’s complete bollocks anyway. Besides, you deserve better than that. I’m just… fuck.” He scrubbed a hand tiredly over his face, feeling the thumb ring Merlin had given him scrape against his cheek. He dropped his hands into his lap, wringing them for a second before pulling the ring off._

_“I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to.”_

_The sight that met him would haunt his dreams for twenty years to come._

_Merlin was the kind of person to wear his heart on his sleeve and his every emotion visible in the twinkle of his eyes, which were now flowing over with salty tears licking their way down his prominent cheekbones. His lips made a pale, thin line, so different from the pink and plump form they usually held. But the worst thing was the heartbreak that seemed to ooze from his every pore, so strong and fierce and real, that Arthur almost took back every word._

_Almost._

_“I think you should go now.”_

_The look on Merlin’s face when these six words left Arthur’s lips was worse than a thousand words of broken promises and hateful vengeance. It could just as well have been carved out of stone, hurt and hate battling in his eyes before settling on ice-cold indifference._

_Arthur didn’t care if it was real or forced; it was still the most painful thing he had ever seen._

Gwen wakes up to find Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging heavily with the weight of a thousand painful memories threatening to drag him to his grave. She wraps her arms tenderly around him, but the look on her face is undoubtedly worried. Arthur doesn’t know; he can’t bear to open his eyes.

“Honey..? Are you okay?” He can feel her warm breath ghosting his cheek as she speaks. It reminds him of that night he had sent Merlin out, never to see him again. “It’s fine,” he says, hoarse voice betraying him as it clearly portrays his obvious lie.

“Just a nightmare.”

He opens his eyes then, turning towards his wife. He was right; she looks worried and it makes his insides twist in guilt.

That’s when he realises how utterly stupid he has been. It has taken him twenty years, but he understands now… His actions has ended up hurting everyone, not just himself, and he has been lying to his friends for the better part of his life, even the wife he’s claimed to love and the one he loves who he’s claimed to…. Well, nothing, really.

Twenty years is a long time, though. A lot of things changes in twenty years.

*

Arthur is always the one to collect the mail in the morning, while Guinevere prepares their coffee. This morning is no exception, so when he wanders back into the kitchen, his hands are carrying three or four letters, along with the newspaper.

Arthur doesn’t care much for the paper himself, but Gwen enjoys reading it. Arthur just pretends to do it while his mind is elsewhere.

There is one envelope that catches his eye though. It looks very proper and decorated, and he opens it with a strange feeling of anticipation.

The anticipation quickly fades into a mixture of joy and dread as he reads through the card inside. Gwen must have noticed, because suddenly she’s looking at him with furrowed brows.

“Is something the matter?”

Arthur clears his throat quite successfully, but fails at clearing his head.

“Uh, no, no... Gwaine and Morgana is getting married, is all.” This is accompanied by a false smile, and Guinevere beams at him.

“That is wonderful news!” She exclaims, unadulterated joy oozing out of her. Arthur nods.

Gwaine and Morgana are getting married.

 _Gwaine_ is getting married.

Gwaine, friend of Merlin, is _having a wedding_.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the wedding rolls around, both Guinevere and Arthur have dark rings under their eyes due to exhaustion of endless nights staying up fighting, and Arthur is becoming accustomed to the spare room. In fact, he spends more nights there than he does in a bed shared with his wife, which is a worry… To some people, anyway.

Arthur doesn’t actually mind all that much.

He has been on edge ever since they received the invitation, and Gwen has, as a wife would and should, noticed that something isn’t right. She asks about it after about a month of walking on eggshells around him, and it all ends in a big fight and her accusations that he has a problem with them getting married.

He can hear the unspoken “maybe you’re in love with Morgana, if you have such a big problem with this whole thing”. It annoys him, and he ends up in the spare room. Again.

So, when the time of the wedding is there, Arthur has worked himself into such a state he’s considering not attending at all. Which, he has to admit, would be really bloody stupid considering he’s the best man. Gwen says the same thing, and Arthur doesn’t handle it very gracefully as it ends in yet another fight.

Gwen looks older, he realises, tired and nervous and kind of angry, in a way. He knows it’s his fault, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. He’s tired of fighting, sure, but more so he’s tired of lying to himself and everyone around him. It’s not like he’s going to have some sort of big, magic reveal where he steps out of the closet wearing a bright-pink unitard anytime soon. Well, not ever really. Maybe he’ll tell someone though. He’s nearing fifty, which equals roughly forty years of lying and denying and everything he was taught in school not to do. Uther didn’t care as much, but then again, he is out of the picture and Arthur has to step up and be his own man instead of hiding in his father’s hypothetical shadow.

So, maybe he is pushing Guinevere away deliberately. Or maybe he isn’t. He just knows he’s tired of lying, and tired of being tired, and in a perfect world someone would have built a time machine by now so he had the chance to go back and change everything that happened since he met Merlin.

Arthur knows that if he had the chance to do everything again, he would have never left Merlin. He would’ve clutched his partner’s hand as they both walked into Uther’s ridiculously massive house together, or his office perhaps, and Arthur would announce what his father probably had suspected his entire life.

Arthur is a gay man.

 *

It’s the day of the wedding, and Arthur is freaking out… In a very manly way, of course.

He doesn’t see Merlin in church. His palms are sweating and his hands are shaking and he feels sort of dizzy with it all, but in the end he can’t spot the other man anywhere. The wedding is ridiculously big though, so it’s not really surprising in the slightest. And anyway, his attention is supposed to be on Gwaine, who looks dashing in his dark suit, and Morgana, who has never looked so beautiful before. Arthur hadn’t liked her when he first got to know her, although he will never admit to the truth which is that he had found her kind of terrifying at first. Now they’re as close as ever, Morgana is Gwen’s best friend after all, and he drinks in the sight of her in her elaborate white dress with pride making his throat feel swollen and blocked.

He most certainly does not cry. Not even a little.

Arthur is positively a bundle of nerves on his way to the wedding reception. Gwen reaches out to hold his hand, and Arthur feels too tired to fend her off. He just purses his lips in an irritated manner, thinking that he might as well humour her for the day.

Weddings do something weird to women.

He holds her hand for almost the entire journey, but lets go when they’re nearing the venue. His hands are sweating furiously and Gwen looks at him with a puzzled expression.

“Is there something wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur sighs. This is how most of their fights start, but he doesn’t feel up to it now.

“Just nervous,” he answers truthfully. This just causes Gwen to look even more puzzled. Another sigh escapes Arthur’s lips, and he dries his palms on his slacks.

“Not looking forward to the best man speech is all,” he says, which is a lie. Arthur has spent weeks preparing it and he knows it’s perfect, as is his capability of speaking to public masses. Gwen knows this, but for some reason she seems to buy his lousy explanation. Maybe she’s too tired to fight as well.

The reception is being held in a big, Victorian mansion out in the countryside, with masses of huge gardens spread around it. It’s beautiful, Arthur thinks, and he says as much when he walks up to Gwaine to congratulate him on his marriage. The other man is beaming, looking happier than Arthur has ever seen him. It makes him feel a bit better, if only just a tiny bit.

There’s a large crowd of people in front of the building, and it doesn’t seem like anyone has gone inside yet. Arthur scans the crowd worriedly. Gwaine seems to notice, and having known Arthur for both of their entire lives, he automatically gets it.

“He’s here, if that’s why you’re getting your knickers in a twist.”

Arthur turns his head abruptly, making his stiff neck scream in protest. Gwaine looks serious, his happy expression from earlier completely vanished.

“What?” Arthur croaks, although he has seen this coming all along. He isn’t surprised, but it is still like a punch to the gut to know that somewhere in this crowd, the love of his life is standing, maybe laughing, maybe drinking champagne… But definitely looking as wonderful as ever.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you guys, and I don’t think I want to know. I don’t deal well with homophobia, or whatever your bloody problem was.” Arthur chokes a little at this, but doesn’t have time to reply before Gwaine continues.

“Just… don’t cause a scene, all right? Morgana will have your balls if you harass Merlin’s sexuality or something at her wedding. Not that I ever think you would, mind.”

Arthur can’t help it; he breaks out into a somewhat hysterical laughter, attracting the eyes of several people around them. He shuts his mouth quickly, and notices Gwaine looking at him with a strange expression. Arthur sobers, and replies dryly:

“Don’t worry, mate. I won’t.”

*

He avoids Gwen until they are sitting down for the dinner. She looks pretty, but exhausted. Her expression is happy though; she’s had the chance to reconnect with a lot of her old friends, which he knows she was looking forward to.

He wants to ask her if she’s seen Merlin yet, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

When the time for speeches rolls around, his hands are sweating again. Not because of having to speak publically of course, but because he knows that Merlin’s eyes will be on him. It makes him think back to when that wasn’t unusual at all, back to those wonderful days where they were on him more than anything else. Merlin used to get such a fond expression when he looked at Arthur.

Arthur doubts it’s still there.

_“I brought food!”_

_Arthur smiled when he could hear Merlin’s voice from the lounge. He never locked his door anymore, so Merlin had developed a habit of strolling in whenever he saw fit. Arthur wasn’t at a point where he would offer his boyfriend—partner?—a key, but this he could deal with quite easily._

_Merlin was in the kitchen before Arthur even had to turn around, and when he did he was met with affectionate blue eyes and a bright smile. He put the bags of take-away on the kitchen counter and walked over to Arthur, who didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him. Merlin nuzzled his neck a little, breathing in his scent like he always seemed to do after a long day apart, and Arthur let him._

_In fact, he might have loved it just a little._

_When Merlin pulled back, Arthur leaned forward to capture Merlin’s upper lip in a soft kiss, sucking it lightly before letting it go. Merlin looked a little breathless, but his expression was so full of love that it made Arthur’s heart ache a little._

_A good kind of ache, of course._

_They were never one of those couples who ate in silence, Merlin always rambled on about his days until he felt guilty about not letting Arthur speak, at which point he moved on to asking Arthur millions of questions about his day._

_It was another thing that Arthur loved just a little._

_The domestic feeling of it all was warm and pleasant, and there was nothing Arthur craved more than it. When he lay in bed, wrapped warmly around Merlin’s naked body later at night he smiled against his lover’s neck and whispered, softly:_

_“I love you.”_

_Merlin was asleep though and didn’t hear it, and Arthur decided that it was probably for the best._

Arthur unfolds the piece of paper he has written his notes on; just a few key words to help him remember roughly what his speech was about in case he forgot... Something that is quite likely considering the major distraction that has haunted him the whole day.

He walks up onto the stage, and looks over at the bride and groom. They look so in love, and Arthur suddenly feels like a hand of ice is clamping its fingers down on his heart, squeezing it forcefully. He clears his throat.

“Gwaine,” he says, nodding at his best friend. “Morgana.” He smiles at her, and returns his gaze to the crowd in front of the stage instead.

“I think we all know I’ve been a pain in Gwaine’s arse basically since the day he was born…” Arthur starts, and manages to get through the whole speech without forgetting anything.

 *

It isn’t until Gwaine and Morgana’s first dance things start to go downhill. Well, it’s not really starting to go downhill as much as basically crashing to the ground, landing on top of Arthur, making it impossible for him to breathe.

He is watching Gwaine and Morgana dance when it happens, and he feels okay up until that point. They’re both good dancers, but it is the happiness on their faces that makes it so beautiful to watch. Suddenly though, his eyes drift over to someone standing on the other side of the room, and the familiar mop of dark hair makes his heart stop for several beats.

His brain seems unable to function in any other way than repeating: It’s Merlin. It’sMerlinit’sMerlinit’sMerlin.

The world stops. Or at least it feels like it, and his heart is finally catching up, beating faster than Arthur has ever felt it beat before. A thousand miles an hour, at least.

But then he takes in Merlin’s position. He is leaning against someone, a man, Arthur thinks with a flare of jealousy. The other man has his arm draped around Merlin’s shoulder much in the same way Arthur used to all those years ago. Merlin is smiling up at him, reaching up to straighten his collar with steady fingers.

Arthur swallows heavily. It doesn’t even feel like he’s connected to his own body anymore. His limbs feel withered, and his head is spinning. In fact, the whole room is spinning quite violently, and before he knows it Arthur is pushing out through the masses of people, leaving the ball room behind.

*

Guinevere finds him half an hour later. He’s sitting on the floor in an empty hallway with his back against the wall, looking rather childish. She hovers over him quietly for a second, before finally asking him the same question she’s been asking for months.

“Is something wrong, Arthur? You’re acting weird. Not that you’re weird, I mean, I don’t want to fight or anything, I—Christ.” She stops herself at that, and chooses to wait patiently for Arthur to reply instead.

Arthur’s sigh sounds chronically tired, weighed down by so much emotion and broken hopes and dreams that it makes him wince slightly.

“I want a divorce,” he says simply, not looking at Gwen at all. Instead of the fight or rant he had expected, she just sinks tiredly to the floor next to him, and utters a quiet “Okay.”

Arthur reaches out to hold her hand, but decides against it and lets his arm drop to his side.

*

He leaves a little later, ordering a taxi to go back to his and Gwen’s flat. He pointedly avoids Merlin, although he basically has to force his eyes not to seek him out in the crowd. When he reaches the house he falls into bed only half undressed, and enters a restless sleep.

He dreams of what life would be like if he had chosen differently.

_Merlin is in his arms when he wakes up. Arthur smiles affectionately at the way his lids are heavy with sleep, dark hair mussed and eyes squinting like a sleepy baby hamster. Merlin always looks adorable when he wakes up, something Arthur knows better than to say out loud. He certainly thinks so, though, but what Merlin doesn’t know can’t hurt him._

_When Arthur reaches out to stroke his knuckles along Merlin’s cheekbone, his ring catches the light and twinkles playfully. It still makes Arthur feels giddy and in love, like he’s still in that rose tinted honeymoon phase which technically should have ended fifteen years ago._

_“Morning,” Arthur says, voice thick with affection, and Merlin just hums against his collarbone before leaning up for a kiss._

_Their morning routine is slow and familiar, and on Saturdays they can spend hours just sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking coffee and flipping through the newspaper and sharing sweet kisses tasting of fulfilled promises._

_Never has Arthur felt so content before, and the greatest thing about it all is that he feels like that almost every day when he’s with Merlin. It’s not perfect though, of course, but it’s definitely worth it. Merlin is stubborn and he talks a lot and he breaks glasses and plates way too often with his long limbs and clumsy fingers, but Arthur loves him._

_He loves everything about him._

_The mail proves to be more interesting than usual, and Arthur picks out a finely decorated envelope addressed to the both of them. When he pulls out the card, he’s smiling widely._

_Merlin’s arms wrap around him from behind, and Arthur leans in to the touch._

_“What is it?” His partner asks lazily, nuzzling his neck the way he always does, the way he always had, as he waits for Arthur’s reply._

_“Gwaine and Morgana are getting married,” he says, turning around in Merlin’s arms so he can look at him. They smile at each other for a few seconds, both sincerely happy for their mutual friends’ success in locating what Merlin and Arthur found all those years ago, before one of them (probably Arthur) leans forward for a kiss full of love and affection and domestic bliss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has taken their time to comment or bookmark or anything relating to showing interest in this fic. It is the first one I've published ever, and I've been pissing myself with nerves (not literally, don't worry), but the response I've gotten have helped a lot. It wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, I think! I'm not in any way a writer, but I've had fun with this and that is the most important thing, I suppose.
> 
> I'm sorry for the way it ends, by the way. I hate myself for it a little bit.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to stop at chapter 3, but my reluctance to let this story go had me writing an epilogue during my frees this morning. So, here you go; seems like the last one wasn't the end after all. Thanks to everyone who left kudos or commented; this is for you.

“Right, of course. Thank you, yes. I will be there tomorrow.”

Arthur sighs when he hangs up on his lawyer, feeling tired and guilty, but content all the same. The divorce has been quiet, he hasn’t been fighting with Guinevere at all, but all their friends are surprised as everyone seems to have thought them the perfect couple. Arthur snorts, because he knows there is no such thing and the thought that his loveless marriage seemed ‘perfect’ is almost kind of funny.

Except it’s not.

Gwen seems sad about it as well, but there’s something about the way she has reacted to the whole thing that makes Arthur think that perhaps she had seen it coming all along. She has always been rather intuitive, Gwen has, and maybe she knew something Arthur didn’t know she did. Maybe one of his well-kept secrets weren’t as hidden as he thought they were, and it terrifies him to even think that.

He stares out of the window of the flat he’s living in at the moment, looking out at the Londoners and tourists stressing by. He’s happy living more central, he’s closer to work and he prefers the smaller flat over the house that would undoubtedly seem too big and empty for just him.

When a few minutes have passed he walks into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey, which he drinks quietly in the lounge as he reads through a few reports he should have looked at ages ago. After a while he’s too tired to continue, and he wanders into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash his face with some water before crawling into the big and blissfully empty bed.

Arthur hasn’t been alone in so long, he will actually admit it feels kind of good. He would rather be here with Merlin though, but he tries not to think about that as much anymore. Seeing Merlin with that faceless, nameless man had been a wake-up call of sorts, and Arthur has realised that just because he still loves Merlin, doesn’t mean Merlin would have waited twenty years for him. Which he obviously didn’t, and Arthur understands.

When he’s lying in bed covered in blankets, eyes closed, his mind drifts to what’s about to happen. The next day he has a meeting with Guinevere and the lawyers to sign the last few papers, and then he will officially be divorced. For good. It is wonderful and terrifying and Arthur still feels guilty, but after Gwaine’s wedding he promised himself to change his life around and stop lying so much, which he intends to do.

Arthur falls asleep with a small smile curling his lips.

*

The next morning he’s running a bit late, and ends up rushing out the door without time for either coffee or breakfast. He arrives at the lawyer’s office looking a bit wild, but he’s quickly calmed down when his eyes meet Gwen’s, who’s looking tired and sad and maybe a bit lonely.

The reality of the situation dawns on him then. He’s really separating from Gwen, who has been his best friend for twenty years, and he has no idea where they’ll go from here. Arthur would love to still be her friend, but he respects the fact that Gwen has loved him in a way he couldn’t reciprocate and it might be too painful for her to keep in contact with him afterwards.

Hurting her even more is the last thing he wants to do.

The lawyer talks them through it quickly, and soon they’re signing the papers to make it official. Arthur thought he’d feel better, but he knows that by doing this he’s pushing away a friend, probably several, and he can’t help feeling the loss. Guinevere’s hand is trembling when she signs her name, and she keeps her gaze fixed downwards when she finishes. Arthur feels a lump in his throat, which is growing rapidly and painfully as he watches his wife’s—no, ex-wife’s—sad expression. He’s finally free, and although he won’t be stringing Gwen along anymore, he knows he’s hurt her.

When they walk out of the offices, ready to go their own ways, Arthur reaches out to stop Gwen. She turns back to look at him, eyes pleading for him to let her go because she looks to be just about ready to cry. Arthur swallows.

“Gwen…” He says, small frown appearing on his face as he tries to find the words to say everything he wants to. He feels a need to clear the air, but the words refuse to make their way past his lips and he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, cursing himself for not being able to tell her the truth, even though it probably wouldn’t help her much at all. Gwen sighs tiredly.

“So am I,” she says, ducking her head before turning on her heels to walk away. Arthur looks after her for a long moment, feeling emptiness spread through his limbs.

*

That night he calls Gwaine. He feels an odd determination and a sudden need to explain himself, even though he didn’t get to do so to Guinevere earlier that day. Gwaine picks up after a few seconds, and suddenly Arthur feels fear gripping him. He refuses to back down though. He has promised himself to stop with his hiding, which he intends to do.

“Hiya, mate,” Gwaine says, and Arthur can hear muffled voices in the background. Arthur takes a deep breath.

“Uh, you’re not busy or anything?” He asks, nervousness making him feel a little bit nauseous. Gwaine chuckles in his ear, and the knot in Arthur’s stomach loosens a little bit.

“Nah, not really,” he says. “Morgana just has a few friends over, is all. I’d be happy to escape, to be honest.”

Arthur laughs when he hears a slapping sound and Gwaine’s muffled voice saying:

“Oy! Calm down, woman!” That earns him another slap, and the people in the background laugh. Then it seems like Gwaine is alone, because Arthur can’t hear any background noises anymore.

“So, what was it then?” Gwaine sounds a bit breathless, much like Arthur feels in that moment. He contemplates on what to say, but decides that it’s probably better not to beat around the bush and just say what he has been wanting to share since he was a teenager.

He is done with feeling scared. He has long since established that it’s no way to live.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he begins, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such a girl. “Uh, about… About the divorce and that.”

Gwaine is quiet for a while, as if he’s trying to figure out how to reply, or perhaps waiting for Arthur to continue.

“Yeah,” Gwaine says finally, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I suppose I should have been there for you a bit more through it all, but with the honeymoon and Morgana’s glorious—“

Arthur stops him there with a cough, and Gwaine takes the hint. Arthur licks his lips, feeling his heart beat rapidly with the realisation that this is it. He’s actually seeing it through.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says, although he did miss Gwaine through it all. He is, however, sort of relieved he got to go through it alone, because if someone had been hanging over his shoulder peppering him with questions, he’s not sure he could have gone through with it.

“So, what about it?” Gwaine asks, prompting Arthur to explain. The silence drags on a bit before Arthur gathers the courage to speak.

“I… I wanted you to know why I did it. No one knows; not even Guinevere.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I mean, I think she has her suspicions, but it might just be me being paranoid. I… I never…” He’s suddenly stuck, the nerves of actually telling someone threatening to choke him. Gwaine stays quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m gay, Gwaine.” Arthur says finally. It’s such a simple statement; short and precise, yet so difficult to actually say out loud. Gwaine stays quiet for a while longer, and Arthur curses himself for doing this. What if Gwaine hates him?

“Arthur…” Gwaine says quietly, and Arthur sucks in a sharp breath. Here it goes.

“I… Fuck, I don’t even know what to say. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with it. Honestly. I just… twenty years, Arthur? You were with Gwen for twenty years, and at no point did you think that it might be something you ought to tell me? Or her?”

His voice doesn’t sound accusing, but Arthur doesn’t have the energy to get angry anyway. Instead he just sighs.

“I know, I know. I tried to tell my dad once, you know. He was the reason why I didn’t tell anyone, not even you, and when he died I’d already been married for five years, and I couldn’t hurt Gwen like that. Not then, anyway.”

He rubs a hand over his weary face. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and Gwaine’s soft voice calms him down a bit. It wasn’t as hard as Arthur had first believed it would be.

“What changed then?” Gwaine asks, but realisation seems to dawn on Gwaine before Arthur has the chance to answer.

“Wait a minute…” He says, voice too knowing for Arthur’s comfort. “Merlin. You and Merlin, your fallout… Were you… Were you ever?”

Arthur inhales shakily, throat suddenly tight. His eyes are stinging with tears; after so many years he’s finally telling someone about Merlin, but he knows it’s too late. Had he had the balls to do this twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have wasted his entire life pretending to be someone he’s not.

“Yeah…” He says, and his voice sounds so broken it makes him wince. He can imagine Gwaine’s face, features drawn into an expression of pity. Arthur clears his throat, but he ends up releasing a small, pent-up sob. He feels pathetic, crying down the phone to Gwaine like this, but he can’t stop himself.

Gwaine whispers reassuring words down the phone for a few minutes while Arthur pulls himself together, and afterwards Arthur tells him the whole story, and Gwaine listens.

Later, he calls Guinevere and tells her everything too. She cries a little, but then she goes very quiet, which unsettles Arthur a bit. Before she hangs up, she says:

“Thank you… for telling me, I mean.”

Arthur feels a hundred times better.


End file.
